


Castiel's Angel

by Valinde (Valyria)



Series: Ten Trope Prompts [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Mating, Bottom Castiel, First Time, Human Castiel, Hunter Castiel, M/M, Oil Gland Kink, Scent Marking, Wing Kink, reverse verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:43:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angel took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. He was fidgeting Cas noticed. Usually he was so bizarrely at ease in his human form, lounging around and tossing winks and smirks at anyone with a pulse. That more than anything had Cas straightening on his stool and wishing he was a little less tipsy.</p><p><em>“Ineedyoutogroommywings,” </em>Dean muttered in one long, almost unintelligible, string. He was blushing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel's Angel

Dean could be ridiculous at times, sulk like a child instead of an immortal being and supposed ‘Warrior of God’, but this was a new record even for him.

Castiel had prayed to him on Thursday (admittedly just to tell him that he had located a diner outside of Monroe, Louisiana, that had arguably the best buttermilk pie on the planet), but the pastry obsessed angel hadn’t appeared and he’d had the whole slice to himself for a change. He’d prayed to him on Saturday when he picked up on what he thought were demonic omens, asking for his insight to save himself a whole lot of research and running around, but again gotten zip in reply. It was unusual to be ignored, especially twice in a row, but neither issue was particularly pressing and Castiel figured Dean was probably busy with his search for God, so he just got on with it.

On Tuesday he’d discovered the omens were in fact the result of a few very stupid warlocks and gotten into a little bit of a mess, but again, Dean had been a no-show and Cas’d had to fend for himself.

Luckily his Latin was top notch and he always carried a paperclip hidden upon his person.

He’d still ended up with singed eyebrows and a nasty gash on one arm where the idiots had drained some of his blood for a ritual though.

So Cas was feeling a little peeved at his so-called friend. Almost a week with no word, not even a text message or crass voice mail, was unusual. And sure the warlocks hadn’t been much of a threat, but Cas _had_ spent most of his evening zip-tied to the plumbing in a musty basement. A bit of divine intervention would have been nice.

Mostly though, he was worried. Dean usually hung around like a bad smell. To counter the urge to fret, Cas focused on how annoyed he was about being ignored, and instead of praying to Dean and asking if he was alright, he instead showered and headed straight to a bar to drown – if not his sorrows – then his… concerns. He was _not_ going to act like a jilted girlfriend whose calls were being screened. Dean was busy, but that was fine because Cas was busy too. There were plenty of hunts lined up to kept him occupied while the whole apocalypse thing loomed.

He was on his fourth beer and feeling much more relaxed about the whole situation, when Dean decided to appear. Finally.

Of course he waited until Cas had glanced away and taken a swig of his beer to materialize with unusual grace and stealth, so that when Cas turned back he got a face full of leather jacket and brooding-underwear-model/angel and choked and snorted beer up his nose.

“Goddammit Dean!” he spluttered, scrubbing the beer off his face with a tatty sleeve.

Dean just frowned and stared. No smirk for a change. He looked extra pouty and stubbled. Almost like he needed to shave, which didn’t make any sense since as far as Cas was aware he didn’t age and his human form was more a ‘physical manifestation of his metaphysical grace’ than an actual body that required upkeep. It had been almost two years since he’d pulled Castiel from the pit and so far he hadn’t so much as changed his shirt.

“Where have you been?” Cas demanded once he was able to breath with a minimum of wheezing. “A text would have been nice. I was starting to think you were lying in a gutter somewhere.”

Dean just blinked and stared over Cas’s shoulder. He had a bizarre expression on his face, a frown of intense concentration or maybe pain. His hair was sticking up in odd directions like he’d just woken up. Which again, _odd._ Nothing ever interfered with his celestial hair gel. It was usually perfectly styled.

Cas frowned, his relief and annoyance at his friend turning into concern. “Dean are you alright?”

Dean’s eyes snapped back to his own. “I need you to do me a favor Cas,” he said, biting at at those ridiculous lips of his nervously. “And it’s…” His face screwed up. “…a bit weird alright? But I seriously have _no one_ else I can ask.”

Cas set his beer down and gave Dean his full attention. It sounded serious. “Of course Dean, what do you need?”

Dean took a deep breath and then looked down at his hands for a moment. He was fidgeting Cas noticed. Usually the angel was so bizarrely at ease in his human form, lounging around and tossing winks and smirks at anyone with a pulse. That more than anything had Cas straightening on his stool and wishing he was a little less tipsy.

 _“Ineedyoutogroommywings,”_ Dean muttered in one long, almost unintelligible, string. He was staring down at his hands with his shoulders hunched in slightly like he was too embarrassed to meet Cas's eyes.

Cas blinked. “Oh.”

Well, that was… a bit weird, just as Dean had said, but… hardly the _weirdest_ thing he’d ever been asked. Cas had been hunting since he was a teenager. He’d done some weird, _weird,_ things in that time. “Of course,” he said, restraining the urge to make a joke since Dean appeared to be actually _blushing_  and Cas could see that this was not the time to tease him. Later maybe.

Dean looked up. “Really?” he asked, sounding incredibly relieved and ridiculously thankful, like he’d been expecting Castiel to laugh at him or tell him no or something.

Cas frowned and downed the last of his beer. “Sure,” he said. “What are friends for?” he stood. “I walked, motel’s-"

Dean grabbed his shoulder and the bar lurched sideways around them and abruptly they were in Castiel’s room.

“-down the road,” he finished pointlessly.

He opened his mouth to complain about Dean not warning him and how _awful_ flying that way was and _couldn’t they have just walke_ d? It was barely a half a mile to the bar and _god_ how could an angel be so _lazy?_   Wasn't that a sin or something? Sloth? But Dean was rolling his shoulders, his face scrunched up in discomfort and Cas could hear a loud flapping noise.

“Are your feathers tangled or something?” he asked, because Dean really looked like a man with itching powder down his pants or some kind of rash.

“It’s my _molt_ ,” Dean spat, sounding thoroughly disgusted at the concept. “It’s bad enough in my heaven - it’s fucking annoying as hell in this form.” As he spoke he shook out one arm and sort of jumped up and down a little.

“You look like you’re about to wet yourself,” Cas observed, trying not to smirk and failing.

Dean glared at his and huffed. “Are you gonna help or not?” he demanded.

Cas gestured with his hand. “Ready when you are, your pigeon-ness.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and then he pulled off his jacket, the button up he  was wearing under it, and finally his plain t-shirt. Castiel carefully kept his face serene as miles of muscled, lightly freckled angel-flesh was exposed before him. Dean’s murderous expression helped Cas keep the inappropriate admiration of his broad shoulders and perky nipples in check. The shirt got tossed aside angrily and then Dean rolled his shoulders and Cas ignored the intriguing play of muscle under his skin.

The room was still for a moment, just a slightly inebriated hunter and a half-naked, disgruntled angel standing a little too close, and then with a resounding snap two _huge_ wings appeared at Dean’s sides, so large they touched the ceiling and more or less brushed the walls even though they weren’t stretched out.

“M’not a pigeon you asscock,” Dean spat with his usual ‘inventive’ use of colloquialism. “I’m an Angel of the Lord and I’m not in the mood for your shit right now.”

It was the wings - great tawny things - that had Cas nodding along, not Dean’s words. It was probably unwise, but he’d long ago lost all real fear of Dean, no matter his inhumanness. It was hard to fear someone that kept saving your life and could be bribed with cherry pie and cheap beer. The wings were shifting and twitching and decidedly ruffled looking. Disheveled as Dean’s hair. Peering closer Cas could see feathers sticking out at odd angles, ragged and dull looking. “So how do I groom them exactly?” he asked curiously.

Dean shifted and his wings flapped awkwardly, somehow managing to seem embarrassed.  It _was_ rather pigeon-like, but Cas politely kept his mouth shut. “You ah…” Dean curled one wing forward and started combing through the feathers. The ends and insides, where Dean could reach, were glossy and tidy. “Comb through them, pulling out the old ones.” He reached back and raked his hand through the back of his wings blindly for a moment then held up a slightly ratty looking feather. “They’re the ones that are all faded and gross looking, and they come out easy.”

Cas nodded. “I can do that.” He looked around the room. “If we sit on the bed you should be able to stretch them out?” he suggested.

Dean nodded, not meeting his eyes and then went and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. His wings twitched and flapped in little nervous, uncomfortable movements. To diffuse Dean’s obvious discomfort and the inappropriate thoughts he couldn’t quite control with a goddamn _angel_ perched on his bed, Cas joked: “Perhaps after we could braid each other’s hair?” as he climbed up next to him.

Dean snorted in amusement, but his shoulders remained tense.

Cas kneeled behind him and just stared for a minute. Dean’s skin was completely normal looking in between the wings. Smooth, lightly tanned and dusted with freckles. It was warm under his finger, just like any man’s. The wings just seemed to grow out of him, feathers sprouting out like hair or something. The very tops of his wings were fairly glossy – where Dean had been reaching back and pulling and scratching Cas guessed, but lower down where he couldn’t reach there were dull feathers sticking out everywhere.

Cas was very careful to start, just carding his fingers through the soft feathers and letting the ones that were loose fall free. He didn’t want to start _plucking_ Dean unless he really had to. He focused on the wings in front of him, losing track of time, and slowly Dean relaxed, the twitching stopping and his shoulders slumping.

With the weird tension gone, Cas let himself really look. Dean’s wings were a mix of browns and golds, with flecks of a greenish hue. They looked rather like a bird’s wings, but not any bird Castiel had ever seen. The feathers had darker colors on the back, and pale cream and gold with dark brown spots on the softer (Cas didn’t think Dean would approve of the word _fluffy,_ so he tried not to even think it) inside.

Cas wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually he was pretty sure he’d pulled out all the old feathers. The new ones were bright, but they didn’t have the silky luster of the ends of Dean’s wings where he had groomed them himself. “Am I doing this wrong?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Dean mumbled, sounding half-asleep.

“The parts I’ve done aren’t shiny like the ends,” Cas complained. “I think I’m doing it wrong…”

Dean’s wings suddenly flared and then folded themselves up like two enormous feathery bits of origami and knocked Cas back on his ass.

“Um… Dean?”

Dean peered around the wall of feathers and Cas noticed that he was blushing again. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not used to them being, you know, _corporeal_.”

“It’s okay,” Cas told him, sitting back up. “Am I supposed to wash them or something?” he asked.

The wings jerked again but Dean held them in check this time.

“Ahh, there’s um… There’s oil you’re supposed to groom them with,” he admitted.

Cas did a quick mental inventory. “What kind of oil?” he asked dubiously, “Cause I have gun oil and that’s about it.”

Dean ducked his head down and mumbled something.

“What?”

He sighed and his wings stretched out again. “Feathers produce their own oil,” he said. “Kinda like your hair I guess.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “So you just have to wait a while for that to happen or something?”

Dean sighed again, even deeper, and started picking at one of his wings in what looked like a nervous tic of some sort. “No. In this form it has to be groomed through.”

Cas frowned and tried to follow the angel’s logic. “Okay, so how do I do that?”

Dean cleared his throat and curled his wing forward further. He then dug his fingers in under the feathers along the very top of it. “There’s these oil glands here,” he said then lifted his fingers to show the wet smear across them.

Cas nodded. “That seems straight forward enough,” he said. “So I just… rub your feathers with the oil?”

Dean licked his lips. “Yeah, basically.”

Cas settled himself back into position and started with the middle of Dean’s left wing, where the feathers just started to dull from the outside edge. He felt along the top until he felt something warm and a little wet. “This?” he asked, even though it had to be.

“Yep,” Dean replied voice oddly tight. His shoulders were tense again Cas noticed. He imagined this was embarrassing for his friend. Cut off from heaven and forced to get a human to help him do secret angel stuff. Also Cas was sort of… well… there was something a bit odd about kind of _milking_ a substance from someone. Even if it was something as inoffensive as oil for his feathers. It was probably why Dean had been so hesitant about this whole deal actually.

Cas wouldn’t relish having to ask a friend to do something similar.

He tried to keep things as normal as possible so Dean didn’t feel awkward. Cas didn’t _mind_ after all. Dean’s wings were fascinating and getting to groom an angel’s wings was probably a very rare privilege. He told Dean about the warlocks and then described in detail that delicious pie he’d had the week before, exaggerating slightly because he knew Dean had a sweet tooth.

It seemed to work. By the time Cas had most of the left wing glossy and bright, Dean was telling him all about some pastry with figs and honey he’d had in what was now Istanbul a few thousand years earlier, the last time he’d walked around in his human form.

Cas was quite pleased with himself. Dean’s left wing was uniformly glossy and beautiful. The parts he’d groomed looked just as good as those Dean had done himself. “Half done!” he said and then shifted so he could start on the right side.

“Thanks Cas,” Dean said flexing the completed wing carefully. “That feels awesome.”

“Well, the next time I need a haircut or something you can return the favor,” Cas told him.

“No seriously, it was annoying as hell,” Dean told him. “It was getting so bad I couldn’t fly properly.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Cas said, reaching out and starting on the other side. “It’s not every day you get to see an angel’s wings.”

Dean hummed and stretched out his wing so Cas could reach it easier. Cas worked in silence for a while. It was nice, is a strange sort of way. Companionable he supposed. Dean’s feathers were soft and warm and sort of tingly, and every now and then Dean would sigh in contentment. He finished the section up to the big middle joint and then gently started feeling for the next oil gland. To his surprise it was already leaking, a long smear of the thin oil coating the first few rows of feathers. That only made things easier for Castiel though. He dragged his fingers through the stuff and started carefully working it into the next section of feathers.

It had a slight odor he noticed, and even though it was probably a bit weird, his curiosity got the better of him and he sniffed the ends of his fingers. The scent was faint and indescribable, but… nice? It reminded him of the smell of someone’s hair. In a good way. That faint ‘person’ smell underneath their shampoo. He hesitated to use the word ‘musk’ because that made him think of thick animal stinks, but it was probably the closest he could get.

Angel-musk. He huffed a little laugh at that.

Dean stretched and looked over his shoulder at him languidly. “What’re you laughing at Cas?”

Cas smiled and shook his head, dragging his fingers through Deans feathers. “Nothing.”

Dean blinked at him lazily and then swayed minutely, like he was on the verge of falling asleep. “’kay.”

The sleepy contentment on his face reminded Cas of a cat being petted or something. “You like this huh?” he asked.

Dean rolled a shoulder in an exaggerated shrug that ran up along his wing but didn’t reply.

Cas hummed in amusement and continued stroking the oil through the feathers until they shone. The slick oil had ended up smeared up arms almost to his elbows and when he rubbed at a tickle in his nose, he got it all over his face. He didn’t mind particularly, the faint _Dean_ smell was good, made him inhale deeply. “You smell nice,” Cas said.

Dean huffed. “What're you smoking Cas? Humans can’t scent me.”

“Maybe when your wings are tucked away in hyperspace or whatever they can’t,” Cas replied. “But I can definitely smell eau de angel right now.”

Dean went very still for a moment. “What do you mean?”

Cas hesitated, wondering if he’d made some secret angel faux paux. “Your oil I guess?” he said, keep his tone light and casual. “You smell nice. Not like an enormous pigeon.”

Dean’s wings snapped out and he went completely still. “You can… smell me?” he asked in disbelief, staring over his freckled shoulder with enormous eyes.

“Well, yeah?” Cas admitted. “It’s very faint… just… you know…”

Dean was blushing again, darker than before. “What’s it smell like?” he asked in a very careful voice, eyes boring into Cas’s like laser beams.

“Um… It smells like… you?” Cas mumbled awkwardly. “Like… Dean?” Dean just kept staring at him. Cas nervously licked his lips and inadvertently _tasted_ that Dean flavorfrom the oil he’d gotten on himself earlier.

Dean sucked in a shocked breath, staring at Cas’s mouth like he somehow knew what had just happened.

Cas swallowed and tried to ignore the strange sweetness clinging to lips. He had a sudden powerful urge to stick his oily fingers in his mouth and _suck._ Ignoring the insane urge he directed his attention back to the task at hand and went back to grooming Dean’s wings. The feathers were oddly puffed up all of a sudden, like Dean was scared or angry or something.

Cas figured the best way to cover whatever monumental fuck up he’d just made was to ignore it though, so he kept his eyes down on Dean’s brown and gold feathers and kept working the oil through them. He could feel Dean’s eyes on him though, see that the angel was still staring at him over his shoulder.

He was nearly done though, there was just the last section of the left wing, the broad part nearest his back. Cas dug his fingers into the wet patch at the top of the wing and then froze with shock at the wet squelch of the absolutely _sodden_ feathers. Dean let out a stifled whimper as his back and wings arched into the touch. Warm oil ran down Cas’s forearm and dripped onto the bedspread. That faint Dean-smell suddenly didn’t seem so faint at all, seemed like something thick and rich coloring the air between them.

Of their own volition Cas’s fingers twisted in Dean’s feathers. The angel cried out softly, clearly not in pain. That smell got thicker and Castiel was vaguely aware that at some point his dick had decided to join the party and was pressing hard and insistent against the fly of his jeans. Dean was twisted half around, staring at him still, lips wet and pink like he’d been biting them and the green of his eyes almost swallowed by black.

“Cas,” he said, then gasped “Oh _fuck,”_ as Castiel slowly dragged his fingers through his feathers. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and Castiel stared. “You shouldn’t-“ Cas did it again, starting from the top where Dean was leaking even more sweet-smelling oil. _“You shouldn’t do that…”_ He wasn’t stopping Cas though, wasn’t pushing him away even, was just panting and shaking and in short looking like the most debauched thing Castiel had ever seen in his entire life. Another deep lungful of that scent and Cas didn’t even think about it – he shoved his dripping fingers in his mouth and sucked the slick honey right off them.

Dean’s gaped for a long moment, and then in a blur of movement he had pined Castiel to the mattress. He leaned over Castiel, panting, a feral look his face that had Cas simultaneously aroused and terrified, and then he shoved a hand in Cas’s hair and kissed him like he intended to lick every drop of that oil back out of his mouth.

He was warm and hot and heavy and there were feathers _everywhere,_ but it was a lot less awkward than Castiel would have supposed, had he ever taken the time to speculate on how he would go about having sex with a man with enormous wings.

Dean used that angelic strength of his to literally tear Castiel’s clothes from his body and then Cas was forced to just sort of lay there as the angel did thoroughly blasphemous things to him with his hands and his mouth, and oh god, his _wings_. Usually when rolling around naked with a partner, Cas tended to be the aggressor, but before the onslaught that was an aroused Angel of the Lord, he found himself offering only the most feeble resistance.

Dean was so _strong¸_ and he was so beautiful and Castiel wanted him so badly – the way he manhandled him, the casual strength with which he was able to press Cas down on his belly and rut against him – it had Cas’s heart slamming against his ribs in excitement. Dean seemed to know just how to kiss him, touch him – rough and hard like he wanted to leave a mark.

When an oil slick finger slid into him, Cas just groaned and arched back against Dean, pressing into his touch.  It was rushed, a quick press and stretch of fingers and Castiel knew it would hurt a little, but when he felt the insistent nudge of Dean’s cock, he spread his legs wider and raised his hips, helping the angel sink into him. It burned and ached, but Dean was wet with that honey-sweet oil of his and Cas’s body opened for him almost eagerly.

Dean moaned his name “ _Casss,”_ low and almost pained and Castiel reached back blindly and grabbed at his short hair. Dean felt huge where he was buried inside, thick length of him hot and hard, and Cas twisted and jerked his hips, relishing the aching fullness. Soft feathers stroked over his bare skin, seemingly everywhere at once, like Dean was blanketing him in his wings, and the visceral reminder that is was _Dean,_ that it was an _angel_ plastered sweaty and panting over him had Cas whimpering in shocked desire.

He could believe this was happening. Dean was gorgeous and kind and fearless, but he was an _angel -_ too good for the likes of him. Cas had locked away the baser urges those green eyes and that fucking _face_ of his brought out in him long ago. For all his occasional jerk-off fantasies, he’d never seriously entertained the idea of anything happening between them.

“Cas,” Dean said again, pleading, like he needed permission to get on with what they were clearly both very eager to continue.

Cas rocked his hips forward and back, letting Dean sink into him a little deeper. “Dean,” he moaned, stretching out beneath him, supine, offering himself. “Dean, fuck me.”

All that snarly aggression was back in an instant. A greasy hand tightened across the back of his neck and shoved Cas’s face into the covers and another dug into his hips as Dean yanked him up into a better position, and then he was drawing back and driving him into the mattress with how deep and hard he was fucking him.

It was rough and it hurt a little, the overwhelming sensation of Dean slamming into him fast and greedy wringing soft little grunts and hiccups out of Castiel that he couldn’t recall ever making during sex before, but that Dean seemed to enjoy wholeheartedly. It was unrelenting, Dean riding him wild and unrestrained, more like an animal ruthlessly claiming a mate than sex as Castiel knew it. But he was tagging Cas’s prostate with unerring precision, lighting him up from the inside and his cock dribbled and spat, curled up hard and tight against his belly. Dean’s wings snapped and flexed and then settled down flat over Castiel, blanketing him in a heavy, dark, cocoon that smelled intoxicatingly of Dean.

Cas reveled in it, sucked in deep lungfuls of the sweet angel stink of him, imagined it was spreading through him, staining him from the inside out. The fingers at his neck squeezed and then they were pressed to his mouth and chin, dripping with oil and Cas opened his mouth to suck and bite at them. Above him Dean faltered, let out some strange animal sound, his wings buffeting against Cas and the mattress alike and then his teeth were buried in his shoulder, _hard,_ and he was pitching forward and spilling hot and pulsing deep inside him. Cas moaned around Dean’s fingers at the shocking feel and then he was clenching and shaking through his own release, humping into the rumbled sheets below.

He didn’t move for a long time, didn’t even open his eyes. Dean was a warm, reassuringly heavy, lump on top of him, inside him still, his breath slowly evening out against the damp skin of Castiel’s neck.

Eventually Cas let out a feeble whimper. Dean was _heavy_ and he was slowly suffocating under what felt like a ton of sweaty angel and feathers. Dean pulled himself up (and _out_ , which was not nearly so sexy now that Cas’s blood had cooled) and then arranged them to his suiting, which apparently involved him sitting against the head board with a boneless Castiel sprawled across his lap, cradled in his arms and cocooned in his wings. Which felt very nice actually, but made Castiel feel more than a little coddled, especially when Dean started rocking minutely and stroking his hair.

He opened one eye and glared up at the angel. “If you start singing to me I _will_ punch you,” he warned.

Dean grinned down at him, his wings flaring around them in a way Cas thought might be playful or smug and then immediately launched into a loud, slightly off-key rendition of what Cas was fairly sure was Air Supply. Or maybe Boston. It was awful at any rate. When his punches to Dean’s stomach and chest achieved nothing but an increase in volume, Cas pulled himself up so he was sitting in the angel's lap and kissed him.

Dean kissed him back eagerly, hands sliding down Cas’s back to his ass, yanking him closer so he could grind his renewed (miraculous?) erection against the sticky mess of Cas’s stomach.

“Again?” he asked, breathless and excited, his eyes wide and very green. “Can I have you again Cas?”

Castiel could feel Dean all over him - _inside_ him - oil and sweat and come, and the angel still wanted more? “I only kissed you to shut you up,” he replied, but his own dick was making a valiant attempt to regroup for a possible round two and the way Dean was touching him, a hand spread wide and strong against his jaw and the other stroking up and down his spine, holding him close, made him want, had him shuffling closer.

Dean nuzzled along the line of his neck, stubble scratching, and then mouthed at the hinge of his jaw as he gently stroked fingers across the come-slick mess of Cas’s ass. Cas shuddered and jerked, sensitive but… two thick fingers eased into him where he was wet and open and he moaned despite the slight sting. “You feel so good Cas,” Dean told him, low and yearning, his fingers slowly pumping in and out. “Wanna be inside you again.”

Cas didn’t answer, just kissed him and wrapped an arm around him so he could twist his fingers in his sodden feathers and get them wet enough to grease up Dean’s dick all over again. The angel moaned as Cas’s fist pumped him slowly, hips jerking, but lost patience almost immediately, swatting Castiel’s hand away pulling him closer so he could sit down on his cock.

He was sore and it stung a little, but Dean’s wings folded around him and like this they could kiss, something Dean seemed very eager to do. Eventually he pushed Cas down onto his back and fucked him to a sharp orgasm, but for a long while Cas just rode him lazily and they kissed until their mouths were numb and sore.

After, when Dean had once again emasculated Castiel entirely by pulling him into his arms and inflicting more feathery snuggling upon him, he said, “You smell like me,” sounding very pleased with himself.

Cas hummed in vague agreement from his position dozing against Dean’s broad shoulder.

Dean nuzzled against him. “Smell like you’re mine,” he continued, quietly smug. “My human. My Cas.”

Cas opened his eyes to give him a look. “Your human?” he scoffed. “Does that make you ‘my angel’ Dean?” he was teasing but Dean wasn’t laughing. Instead he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Cas’s brow like a benediction. 

“I’ve always been yours,” he said.


End file.
